Rainbow Connection
by Kenna 7 Elefant
Summary: In a world where you know who your soul mate is by making eye contact with them, Blaine has given up on love...until he meets Kurt Hummel. Badboy!Blaine and Soulmate!Klaine. The Blaine POV of my story Bad Connection - can be read alone!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is Blaine's side of my other completed story entitled Bad Connection, which can be found on my profile. Also, this first chapter is dedicated to crownedqueenofbitchland as a belated birthday present :)**

**~.~.~.~**

I had learned a long time ago that things hurt the most when someone you loved was inflicting them upon you. You expected someone you hated to hurt you. You expected them to try and tear you down, demean you, and break your spirit. But the people you had known and loved all your life were supposed to care about you. They were supposed to be the ones picking you back up, defending you, comforting you…

Unfortunately, I didn't have that luxury.

Every blow my father delivered hurt much more than it should have, but only on the inside. My body had toughened over the years of abuse, but my mind remained fragile as one of the people I had loved, trusted, and idolized literally beat me to the ground.

I didn't cry anymore – not while he was around, anyway – but I didn't fight back either. No matter how many times the logical part of my brain told me that my father was a dangerous man, I simply couldn't hurt the one person who gave a shit whether I lived or died.

As much as my father claimed to despise me, he would never kill me. Why would he when I was so good at stealing him booze and cigarettes?

My body became numb to the pain after the first few punches to my stomach. I sank down the wall of our apartment in defeat, letting him kick me in the ribs without complaint, barely wincing and doing everything I could not to look at his face. If I looked at his face, I would see the monster that had once been my dad.

Eventually he got tired of pummeling me. He always stopped before any of my injuries were too serious. Part of me hoped this was because he still had some residual parental instincts – the logical part of me knew it was just because he didn't want to get arrested.

He plopped down on the couch that served as my bed, taking a swig from the flat beer that had sat on the side table since last night, muttering to himself between drinks about how hard I was to deal with.

I didn't move, scared that if I did he would start hitting me again, mentally assessing the damage he'd done. There would definitely be bruises across my ribs, along with my wrist from when he'd grabbed me, and I felt like I was going to be sick from the punch he'd delivered to my stomach.

All in all, this beating hadn't been that bad.

~.~.~.~

I got out of the house as quickly as I could, waiting until my dad retreated into the only bedroom in the apartment in search of a smoke before grabbing my worn backpack from under the couch and leaving. I had missed the school bus by now, but if I ran I could make the city bus that ran by my new school.

William McKinley High School – it didn't sound like a very interesting place; named after a failed president, overused mascot, and cliché school colors, just like the dump I'd been expelled from the previous week.

Most people would be able to see the bright side about switching schools. Meeting a new crowd of people your age meant a higher probability of finding your soul mate. I, however, had given up on the whole principal of soul mates a long time ago.

Finding your soul mate was something instantaneous, flipping your life around the moment you made eye contact with the person you were destined to be with forever. I'd heard many adults gush about how they'd just _known _when they'd met "the one". It was called Connecting, and - try as I might to block it from my mind - it was something I thought about everyday.

My parents had Connected – I could vaguely remember them telling me stories when I was little about how they were so certain of their love for each other that they'd rushed into a marriage and wed less than six months later. But then when I was seven, my mother had walked out on us. That was when my father took up drinking, and smoking soon after, once he'd stopped caring about everything. About me.

Connections meant next to nothing. This I had seen evidence of. It was what made my life so fucked up in the first place, what had made _me _someone that no guy would ever want as their soul mate. If that hadn't made me give up hope, my father's continuous, very drunken lectures about how I wasn't worth shit did.

But that didn't stop me from fantasizing. Late at night, after my father had passed out and my resolve was weak from exhaustion, I would imagine meeting the eyes of someone and being absolutely positive that nothing could go wrong between us. He wouldn't look at me like everyone else did – he would care about me and try to see who the person was that I kept locked up inside so tightly. He would hold my hand so gently in his and smile whenever I smiled, and be perfectly understanding and actually _listen _to me like my opinion meant something to him.

It was times like that, when I let my mind wander to impossibilities, that I couldn't stop myself from crying. Quietly, of course, but I could feel it all the way to my bones, to my lonely soul. Because who would be insane enough to love someone like me?

I pulled my old leather jacket tighter around myself, folding my hands under my arms to keep my fingers warm in the nippy October air. I mentally prepared myself to act like I was tough and no one could hurt me, because if there was anything I had learned from my time in juvie, it was that if you _acted _untouchable, people generally kept their distance. It was the only thing that got me through the day. Teachers and movies feed you all this "don't be afraid to be yourself" crap, but the last time I listened to that, I got my ass kicked. As it turns out, not very many people in Ohio like depressed, lonely gay kids who find their solace in singing solos in choir class.

The bus rumbled up to the sidewalk just before I arrived at the bus stop, the doors sliding open with a hissing sound. I fished in my pocket for the fare, panicking momentarily because I wasn't sure I had enough. I found some change in my pocket and the rest in my backpack, some of the morning commuters coughing impatiently. I sneered at them, trying to look like the hard-hearted delinquent people expected me to be.

I knew I should've been used to the looks of disdain the other passengers shot at me as I took my seat, but they still hurt a little bit.

~.~.~.~

Evidently I wasn't the only newcomer to McKinley, because by my third period I'd already witnessed a cheerleader Connect to a Russian exchange student. The girl had squealed in delight and thrown herself into the arms of her gangly, very surprised soul mate.

Later in class I heard some nerdy girls muttering wistfully about how romantic it was that a hot cheerleader Connected to a lanky nerd, sighing happily that there was hope for everyone.

I felt a little sorry for them, because sometimes, it just wasn't that simple.

Thinking about how you're doomed to be alone for the rest of your life tends to make you lose your appetite, so I opted out of getting lunch in the cafeteria lines. Maybe I could stall one more day before I tried to buy food and the lunch staff gave me a look of pity upon realizing I was on the welfare list.

I was trying to find an empty table when my whole life changed.

Never before had I seen a more beautifully intricate pair of eyes. They were like fine works of art, orbs of blue, green, and gray flecks, with every shade in between. My own vision seemed to have been improved tenfold just so I could drink in every detail of them, all of the air whooshing out of my lungs and my insides getting a kind of melting feeling. They looked like endless oceans, so mesmerizing that I almost didn't realize what was happening to me.

My heart actually _soared, _a feeling that had been absent from my life for so long, because I was _Connecting._ I would actually get to have that one person I could spill my soul into, someone that would listen and understand and love me and take care of me, someone who would hold me and tell me I wasn't the worthless bastard I felt like most of the time.

In that moment all my problems seemed to shrink. It didn't matter so much that my mom was out of the picture or my dad considered beating the crap out of my a hobby, because I had finally found that one person I was meant to spend the rest of my life with.

And god, was he gorgeous. When I finally stopped looking at his eyes long enough to actually see my soul mate's face, I was blown away.

He was perfect. Pale, smooth skin; quirked, sculpted eyebrows; pink, parted lips; high cheekbones, soft brown hair, almost elfin ears, clothes that belonged on a runway but looked so _right _on his lean body – I could literally feel my soul opening up to this incredible boy. I began to wonder how I'd gotten so lucky –

But I hadn't - f course I hadn't – because the look my soul mate was giving me was one of hatred and disgust, just like everybody else. But there was something else there too: disappointment.

My heart dropped like a stone, my face falling back into the mask of disconcert that I wore around everyone.

I instinctively began to leave, my feet taking long strides out of the cafeteria. I felt a tug from deep inside me, warring with myself because leaving my newly Connected soul mate just felt _wrong, _but I knew he would've left if I didn't. This was just saving myself from a bit more pain.

My brain settled into autopilot mode, taking me to my locker to retrieve my belongings and the carrying me out of the school. I just kept walking, heading for my house that was never really my home.

My heart called out, loud and clear:

_Kurt._

**~.~.~.~**

**REVIEW = PREVIEW OF THE NEXT CHAPTER**


	2. Chapter 2

**TRIGGER WARNING: BRIEF THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE**

**~.~.~.~**

It was a long walk from school to the low income side of town, just long enough for it to hit me that _oh my god, my soul mate hates me, _at which point I became violently sick in the thicket of trees beside the road.

The street was thankfully deserted, only one shabby, lonely house all the way at the end of the road. I expelled the measly breakfast I'd managed to scarf down this morning before my dad got bored and started using me as stress relief.

At some point that I couldn't define, my dry heaving turned into wracking sobs.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Being despised by my other half was even worse than being sure I didn't have one – at least before I could fantasize about finding the perfect guy. All those times I'd dreamed about sneaking out of the house to see him, because I would never be able to tell my dad about him, and going on normal dates to get coffee or see a movie, because it had been so long since anything in my life felt remotely normal…all of that was gone now.

It was hard for me to accept that as beautiful as my soul mate looked on the outside, on the inside he was just like everyone else that judged me at first sight. Why did we Connect, then? What set Kurt apart from every other judgmental person?

Kurt. The name rang in my mind, resonating in the background like an annoying song, except it was anything _but _annoying. It was my soul mates name, I was positive, but…I hadn't heard his name, had I?

It struck me then how little I actually knew about Connections. Parents usually explained them more in-depth to their kids at the same time they gave them the sex talk, because some of the themes were a bit too much for kids to handle, but I hadn't had either of those awkward discussions. Some Sex Ed classes taught about Connections too, but I'd never been to a school that offered one. Automatically knowing your soul mate's name must've been a side effect of Connecting.

I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my jacket, reminding myself to wash it later. I already had very few clothes as it was. Once I calmed myself down, I started walking again in a zombie-like state, not even noticing the cold. Thankfully my dad wouldn't be home for a few hours – he worked a minimum-wage factory job that he could only keep because his friend ran the place and there were tons of guys to take up his work on the days that he decided not to come.

We lived in a very dingy, disgustingly filthy third-floor apartment. Our complex had a high crime rate and the whole parking lot smelled of smoke, but not as bad as inside our apartment.

Nothing in our very small living space was clean, all stained or burned or coated in a sticky layer of beer. I'd gotten used to the smell, having been exposed to it since I was seven, but I missed the feeling of cleanliness. The old TV set didn't work and there was no hot water – most days I opted to shower in the school lockers. My dad had taken the only bedroom as his own, leaving me to sleep on the couch.

Out of habit, I slid my backpack under said couch as soon as I locked the door behind me. Over the years my dad had hocked most of our belongings for booze, cigarettes and rent, so anything that I wanted to keep had to be hidden, aside from the clothes in our shared dresser.

I sank down onto the sagging couch cushions, burying my head in my hands. I couldn't get the image of Kurt's face out of my head.

_Kurt, _my brain echoed. _Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, Kurt Hummel, soul mate, perfect, Kurt…_

I groaned and attempted to drown out the childlike voice that had taken up residence inside my head. I wondered if this was how I was doomed to live my life, trying to drown out desires that I couldn't act upon because Kurt wanted nothing to do with me.

Would it kill the universe to just let me have one _ounce _of good luck?

"Kurt," I whispered, as if saying it aloud would help the voice trapped in my mind escape. It felt right on my tongue, natural, like I'd said it a million times even though I was pretty sure I'd never known someone named Kurt before. "Kurt," I said again, louder and more desperate-sounding. "Kurt, please…please…"

I didn't even know what I was begging for, but then I was crying into my hands. Maybe for him to just give me a chance. Maybe for him to have never existed.

My arms started to ache with the effort of holding my head up and I curled up on my side, closing my eyes and wishing I could just disappear. The world would be a lot better off if I did.

~.~.~.~

Evidently I drifted off, because I awoke to a swift blow to my already bruised ribs.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing?" my dad slurred, his voice raspy. "Where are my goddamn cigarettes?"

He was standing over me, ironically holding a cigarette in his teeth, his bloodshot eyes livid. Often times he expected me to steal him things after school, but cigarettes and beer were the hardest to get a hold of. I much preferred stealing food.

"Y-you didn't tell me you wanted-" I stammered quietly, but I knew it was too late.

A sharp slap stung my face, but his aim was always off when he was drunk, so I didn't get the full brunt of it.

"I'm sorry," I said in barely a whisper, my voice shaking. I kept my eyes averted, wishing desperately that I could vanish. "I'm so sorry…I-I'll get you some tomorrow…promise…"

I heard him sigh exasperatedly, muttering about needing a beer as he lumbered off to the kitchen.

I didn't like looking my father in the face because he looked incredibly different from the man he was ten years ago. Most people who knew him back then wouldn't recognize him. His hair used to be full and well kempt, his teeth white and eyes bright. Drugs had turned him rather nasty looking, and if there was anything that could turn you off of using substances, it was watching them slowly eat away at someone you loved.

Most of the time I was sure my father knew I loved him still. He used it against me on purpose a lot of the time, and it felt like a knife was being driven straight through me when he did.

In a way, it was similar to how I felt when I saw Kurt's true colors. I had come to love the idea of a perfect soul mate, and because I had, it had hurt so much more to find out that he _wasn't._ I almost felt ashamed, because if there was one thing my parents had taught me, it was that loving someone only got you hurt. You got too attached, and then they either abandoned you or used your love to hurt you.

So from here on out, my task was simple: don't fall in love with Kurt Hummel.

~.~.~.~

I dreamt of drowning that night, but drowning had never been so beautiful, nor more appealing. I was drowning in a sun-streaked ocean of blue and green, silvery fish darting so quickly around me that they were blurred. A sweet voice sang to me as I floated, my mind growing more and more fuzzy, more blissful. I was teetering on the edge of life and glorious death, the warm waters gently embracing me.

I woke up crying.

~.~.~.~

The next day I walked to school, taking as much time as I could so that I could postpone seeing Kurt again as long as possible. If I was lucky, he'd hate me so much he'd get a transfer.

What would happen when I did see him eventually? Would he ignore me? Confront me? If he did…I honestly had no idea how I would react.

_Just use the same attitude you use with everyone else, _I reasoned. _Why should he get special treatment just because he's your soul mate? He_ _certainly isn't giving _you_ any._

I supposed that was the best way to prevent myself from getting hurt. If I didn't open up to him, he didn't have anything to use against me, right?

I kept feeling sharp pains in my arms all day, every hour or so in spurts. It would just suddenly hurt in my upper arm and shoulder, and I couldn't figure out why. Sure my father grabbed me there often, and thus those areas were often bruised, but they usually only hurt when I touched them. This kind of pain was so random and potent that I occasionally winced. Maybe I'd slept on them weird last night or something.

By the time I eventually meandered my way to school, it was after lunch. My dad had left early this morning to buy beer before work so I'd gotten to sleep in a bit. I knew my teachers wouldn't take kindly to a new student showing up late for their class after skipping the day before, but at least it was uniform with my criminal image.

Was it an image? I felt more and more like a hopeless case juvenile delinquent everyday.

~.~.~.~

I dropped my stuff off at my locker after a quick look at my schedule – English with Mr. Randy had started five minutes ago – and went to find my classroom in the deserted hallways.

The door was shut, but I could hear the droning voice of the tall, balding teacher and see him gesturing to the blackboard in the window. I opened the heavy metal door and he fell silent, all eyes turning to me.

I automatically dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to handle seeing their disapproving glares identical to Kurt's right now.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Anderson," I heard the teacher say critically. "Glad you decided to join us today, although I expected you _yesterday."_

Guilt flooded through me before I could stop it, but it dissipated quickly. Shoplifting since you were thirteen did that to you.

"Since both you and Mr. Hummel were absent when we partnered up for peer editing our persuasive essays, you can work with him."

I froze, unwilling to believe that he'd actually just said _Hummel. _Working with Kurt would be the exact _opposite _of what I wanted right now, when what I really wanted was to not be reminded of how inadequate of a soul mate I was.

"Mr. Hummel, will you please raise your hand so Mr. Anderson knows where he'll be sitting?" I vaguely heard Mr. Randy say, and then it hit me that I would actually have to look at Kurt – look at his damn perfect eyes and perfect face and clothes and body.

Well-practiced at avoiding my father's gaze, I glanced up quickly at the rows of students to pick my soul mate from the crowd. It wasn't hard because my eyes seemed drawn to his like a magnet.

The expression he was wearing was not at all what I expected. He looked shocked, almost panicked rather than disgusted. Perhaps he was worried his reputation would fall if he was seen with me.

As soon as I figured out where my new seat was I let my gaze drop again, keeping my eyes on my dirty Converse as I sat in the desk to Kurt's left. I could feel his gaze on me, but I resisted meeting his eyes again.

"Yesterday we edited our peer essay rough drafts," the teacher explained to us after he'd set the class to work. "Mr. Anderson, you'll have to write one for homework since you just transferred." I could tell by the glare he shot my way that he'd assumed "transferred" meant that I'd gotten expelled form my last school. He assumed correctly, but it was a sharp reminder of how little people thought of me. I couldn't bear to look at Kurt's face to see if it held the same belittlement. "Once you've done that, you two need to get together on your own time to edit each other's. Today we're working on this."

I glanced down at the stack of papers Mr. Randy had been piling on my desk as he talked – a syllabus, rubric, and a question packet for the book _Catcher in the Rye._

"Do you need a copy of the book, Mr. Anderson?" Mr. Randy asked.

"I've read it," I replied. _Catcher in the Rye _had been one of the many classics my mother adored that were lying around the house before she left – I had devoured every single one as soon as I could read.

The teacher nodded and retreated to grade papers, leaving me alone with Kurt. Well, technically we were in a class full of other students, but it felt like we were the only ones in the room. I started to work on the question packet, hoping to distract myself and maybe finish early so I could catch up on some sleep.

I was rather surprised when Kurt spoke.

"So," he said uncertainly, "should we meet at the public library after school on Friday?"

Holy fuck his voice was gorgeous. Was that even legal? He should have warning signs on him somewhere. It felt like my ears had waited my whole life to hear that sound.

"Thursday," I decided once I had regained the capacity for speech. "I'll be done by then." Why on Earth would it take me three days to write a rough draft essay on a book I'd already read? Delinquent didn't mean stupid.

"I can't Thursday, I have Glee rehearsal," Kurt said, sounding taken aback.

"Tomorrow, then," I compromised.

Kurt let out a huffy sigh, and for some reason the sound really pissed me off. Did he honestly think he had the right to be frustrated with _me _after what he did to me?

"Fine," he snapped. "Meet me there at four."

I nodded, not trusting my words to be civil if I spoke.

**~.~.~.~**

**REVIEW = PREVIEW**


	3. Chapter 3

**I AM SO SORRY I STARTED WATCHING DOCTOR WHO AND FELL BEHIND ON LITERALLY EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE! It won't happen again, I promise! Thank you so much for being patient!**

**~.~.~.~**

That day after school I caught the bus to the liquor store, picking up some cigarettes for my dad with the last bit of money we had for the month. I could always steal food, but in order to get cigarettes I had to bribe someone to go get them for me and then make a break for it before I paid them. Sometimes that didn't work out so well for me.

My dad was temporarily sated when I presented him with the new pack, and then I went out onto the rickety balcony to do my homework. It didn't smell as much out there, so it was nice despite the fact that it was definitely not up to code. If I did fall, it wouldn't really be that big of a loss anyway.

I flew through the rough draft, though it probably wasn't my best work because I couldn't get friggin _Kurt _off my mind – honestly, how was it that his name had been repeating itself in my mind these past two days and I still wasn't sick of hearing it?

I dreamt of heavenly drowning again that night, the high, melodious voice singing to me in words I couldn't understand. When I awoke from the bliss it was like heartbreak.

But I knew heartbreak well. We were close acquaintances. So I got up, ate an apple, took a fast, freezing shower, and snuck into my dad's room while he was still asleep.

His bedroom was only big enough for a mattress and a broken dresser, the minimal floor littered with trash and clothes. He was sprawled out facedown on the stained bed, drooling.

I wrenched open one of the dresser drawers, the small confines not even close to full. I only owned one pair of jeans, a leather jacket, three shirts, and a few pairs of socks and underwear. Making so many trips to the Laundromat got expensive, but whenever I tried to get myself a new shirt, my father would yell at me, deranged into thinking it had been his and I stole it from him.

Before I left the house I checked my hair in the mirror – it was everywhere, as usual, but sometimes if I wet it I actually looked like a civil human being. I stared at my reflection, at what everyone else saw and judged everyday.

Piercings glinted dully all over my face, all courtesy of a "friend" I'd made in juvie that worked in a tattoo parlor. He snuck us in one night and let us get as many as we wanted, then was promptly fired.

Lots of small scars also decorated my skin, most of them from my father.

Kurt could never love a face like this.

~.~.~.~

Throughout the school day I kept getting the sharp pains in my shoulders again, and I began to notice a common theme – it was always during hall passing time between classes. It all seemed really bizarre, especially when I took my jacket off and looked to see if there were any bruises, but there weren't. It didn't make any sense.

"Hey short stuff!"

The rough voice jolted me out of my speculation. I was trying to find a table in the cafeteria, and blocking my path was a mammoth of a dark-skinned jock, flanked by an equally tough-looking football player. The one who had spoken had an amused glint in his eyes and both of them towered over my five-foot-six form.

"I hear you're new in town," the dark-skinned one continued, his companion chuckling like it was hilarious. "I thought we better lay down some rules, just to make sure you don't go getting the wrong idea about who runs this place. It certainly isn't scrawny little shrimps like you."

"We're the Big Macs; you're the small fry," the other one added.

If there was one thing I learned from juvie, it was that if you _acted _tough, people thought you were.

"Alright, _look," _I snarled at Big Mac Number One, advancing on him with bared teeth. "I don't give a fuck who's 'top dog' around here. As long as you stay out of my way, we won't have any trouble. Run your redneck McDonald's kingdom however the hell you want, just don't expect me to bow down to you."

The jocks raised their eyebrows, their puny brains clearly confused about why I didn't back down like their other victims. I held their gazes steadily until Big Mac Number One gave in.

"Whatever, man," he shrugged, walking away. Big Mac Number Two lingered for a bit longer, his fists clenching and unclenching. I stared darkly at him, daring him to fight me, until he walked away breathing like a winded rhinoceros.

After English (during which I had purposefully ignored Kurt) I felt the jolt of pain in my shoulder again, at the same time I heard the loud clang of metal.

I glanced to my left for the source of the noise like many of the other students, and to my surprise I saw Kurt. He was heavily leaning against the bank of lockers there, steadying himself and wincing, rubbing his arm in pain. It was the same arm I had just gotten a mysterious injury on.

A few feet away, Big Mac Number Two was watching Kurt with a satisfied expression, a twisted smirk on his chubby face.

I glanced back at Kurt and saw his facial expression – he looked sorrowful, too deeply so for someone his age, but there was fight in his eyes. Not much, but there was. I hoped it never faded.

Was that the reason I kept getting hurt with no apparent cause, because Kurt was being shoved into lockers? Could things like that translate through Connections?

I sighed heavily and kept walking to class, deciding I would definitely have to research Connections soon.

~.~.~.~

"I'm going to the library to do some research for a school project," I announced as soon as my dad got home, already slipping bus fare and my essay rough draft into my backpack. He grunted in acknowledgment, heading straight for the fridge.

"Get me some more beer while you're out," he ordered, slamming the door shut so hard the whole thing rattled. He didn't even look at me.

I caught the bus down to the library, early by about forty-five minutes. The place was very quiet, people's noses buried in books or scanning shelves, taking no notice of my attire or piercings. Coming to the library more often might not be a bad idea.

Along the back wall was a row of old Mac computers, so I settled down at one and opened up a search window. I typed in "Connections" to Google, feeling like a teenager searching for porn for the first time, and clicked on the first link that lead to Wikipedia.

The article was huge – plots of movies and books that centered around Connections, important soul mates in history, the progression of accepting that gay couples could be soul mates – but I focused on the beginning of the article, which highlighted the mechanics of Connections.

I skipped over the common knowledge stuff, like that each person in a Connected pair held one half of a soul. Their soul mate had the other half, joining when they made eye contact, but only a little bit. I found what I was looking for under "Connection Symptoms".

_In most cases, when one person in a Connected couple is in physical pain, their soul mate will feel a margin of that pain, _the article read. _It is transmitted through the joined margin of their souls. This is usually only true for severe, often fatal pain, except in the case of stronger Connections (see __Stronger Connections__ below)._

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion because the pain Kurt got from being shoved into lockers definitely wasn't fatal. I clicked the link that took me further down the page to another section of the article entitled "Stronger Connections".

_Some soul mates are more attuned to each other than other Connected couples. This may result in transmission of any intensity of pain and/or emotions and means that for whatever reason, the two people's souls are joined more than the average couple's, allowing more sensation to pass between them. _

I kept staring at the words "for whatever reason", because what the heck did that mean? Did the reason differ between people, or had scientist not figured out why? Or maybe it was just random…

_Many of these more strongly Connected couples can adjust how much their souls are joined, increasing or decreasing the amount of sensation transferred. Their Connection can be reduced so much that they can only tell whether or not the other is alive, or expanded so greatly they can feel almost everything. They cannot, however, sever their Connection completely._

_ More strongly Connected individuals are also known to sense things like when their soul mate is lying, harboring a secret, or in great need of something (i.e. food, sleep, or affection). They will also feel their soul mate's emotions as if they are their own, rather than just knowing how they feel. Strongly Connected couples may also spontaneously know small things about their soul mate that they would not have otherwise known._

Trying hard to take it all in, I scrolled back up to the main article.

_Connected pairs have the ability to marginally heal their soul mate if one of them is wounded, passing strength and health through their Connection. This is most effective if they are closer together. This ability has its drawbacks as well: if one member of the couple loses consciousness beyond their control (such as receiving a blow to the head), the other will lose consciousness too. Also, if the life or relative well-being of one Connected person is threatened, an uncontrollable, very strong protective instinct will overcome their soul mate._

_ Several other things are transmitter via Connections too – because the Connection is in the self-conscious, soul mates will dream simultaneously, granted that both individuals are asleep. They may have the same dream from the same point of view or be able to interact with each other in the dreamscape._

_ When the Connection is first established, the only dreams either is capable of having will involve nothing but streaks of color and sometimes voices. Normal dreams will resurface after about three weeks._

It was a lot to take in. After that I started skimming the article, reading something about how soul mates have a strong, uncontrollable, protective instinct over one another and how when you hear your soul mate sing, it has a sort of chemical effect on your brain. That last part sounded a bit freaky so I didn't read too in-depth, hoping that Kurt didn't like singing.

I wasn't until I got to a sub-article entitled "Intercourse Between Soul Mates" that I really stopped.

I felt like a blushing thirteen year-old looking up sex in the dictionary, but after checking over my shoulder for anyone that could potentially see my screen, I read on.

_During sexual intercourse, the Connection between two people will open up as fully as possible (for those with stronger Connections, it is customary to open it manually) so that all sensation may be shared between them. At the climax, their souls will momentarily join into one being – this is said to be the most pleasurable experience attainable."_

There was a lot more on sex – weird stuff like rituals and experiments – but Kurt would be there soon and I didn't want him to see me looking at _this _if he was early. Besides, I needed time to…process.

Once the history was safely cleared and the computer shut down I went to one of the round tables, setting down my bag and fishing out my essay.

So…staying away from Kurt might be a little harder than I anticipated, not just because we were English partners now, but because apparently Connections were a lot stronger and more intricate than I thought, and to top it all off, mine and Kurt's was the strongest kind of all. In a couple of weeks we'd be having joint dreams and know each other very well, even if we never spoke again.

I clenched my jaw tightly in determination not to cry, because after this English project, it was likely we never _would _speak again. Kurt seemed to want nothing to do with me, and as much as I wished it didn't, that hurt. Whatever happened to all those fairytales I'd read as a kid, like _Beauty and the Beast_? Belle still found a way to love the Beast even though he was hideous, because she knew he was her soul mate.

Reality clearly wasn't like fairytales, as if I needed another reminder. Kurt still just saw the monster, like some strange world where you couldn't tell who your soul mate was, a truly terrifying thought.

As little faith as I placed in Connections before I even met Kurt, it was obvious now that regardless of that, I had still been waiting for my prince to come and save me.

The moment the thought left the forefront of my mind, I saw my "prince" approaching out of the corner of my eye. He cleared his throat awkwardly, but I couldn't really bear to look at him. I didn't want to see any more disappointment or disgust coloring his eyes.

Kurt took a seat next to me and I heard the rustling of his schoolbag, but I kept my eyes firmly focused on my paper, hoping he would think I was just reading it over one last time or something instead of just trying not to let him see how sad he made me.

"Okay," Kurt muttered, setting his essay on the table and scooting it towards me. "Here's my essay, so…I guess we should get started."

I nodded and pushed my paper at him, then started reading his. After a few moments of tense silence that I thought would never relax, we settled into something more comfortable.

It was clear to me after reading barely a paragraph that Kurt was much smarter than me. The only issue he seemed to have was that he kept making comments on the reading from a first-person point of view instead of an objective one, which was a big no-no in essays according to Mr. Randy, but it was almost as if his internal voice couldn't stop itself, demanding to be heard. The things he had to say about it were incredibly interesting, in any case, but I made a note about it in the margin so he wouldn't get marked down.

Kurt's handwriting was enchanting, almost unreal, like a font. It was swirly and looping with a natural slant to it, a little hard to read, but it was worth it. I self-consciously realized that he must've thought my handwriting was boring.

_Blaine, you idiot – no one thinks about that kind of stuff but you._

I checked the clock on the wall and saw that I had to catch the bus soon or I'd have to wait another hour to get downtown, where I needed to get my dad's cigarettes. Rushing a bit through editing the rest of Kurt's paper, I pushed it away and started packing up, still not looking at him.

"Don't you want to wait until I'm finished?" Kurt asked.

"Can't. I have a bus to catch," I said briskly, hoping I could still make it. "Give it to me tomorrow."

I thought that was the only protest Kurt was going to give, but after I slipped my bag over my shoulder, he spoke again.

"Look, I know I'm not exactly the kind of person you wanted to Connect to, but it doesn't mean you have to hate me."

My mind scrambled for a moment out of pure shock, but juvie had taught me to respond quickly, especially to unexpected things.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't," I growled, Kurt's gaze piercing even though I wasn't looking. God, there were freaking _tears _pooling in my eyes. Why the hell did I cry so much more since I Connected?

"You don't know me! How can you hate me?" Kurt exclaimed, actually having the nerve to sound surprised.

My head whipped around so that our eyes locked, his confused and mine accusing.

"Maybe it's because I thought my _soul mate _of all people would be the _one person _that didn't judge me the second they saw me."

I appeared to have struck a nerve, because Kurt's whole facial expression changed. He looked like he was seeing me for the first time and I didn't dare look away, despite the fact that my eyes were definitely wet now, but his were too. I was trembling with the emotional weight of the moment, because it seemed like this would be the moment when it all changed. Either Kurt would storm out and never speak to me again, or something might actually happen between us.

"Blaine..." Kurt whispered after the heavy silence, the rest of his words lost.

"Don't try to deny it," I commanded. "I saw the look of disgust on your face, it's the way _everyone _looks at me -"

"I'm not trying to deny it," he interjected, taking me by surprise. "I'm trying to apologize, Blaine. You're right. I'm sorry and it won't happen again."

My first thought was that this had to be some sort of trick. There was no way Kurt would change his idea of me that quickly, or even that he would change his idea of me at all. People just didn't do that. In their mind I was untrustworthy, so a few words from me to attempt to convince them otherwise wouldn't do much good.

"Look, you're not exactly what I was expecting either," Kurt said frankly. "Well, actually you're not at all what I was expecting, but I want to get to know you, Blaine. The real you."

It was then that I realized why Kurt would be willing to get a second impression of me - looking at his clothes, hearing his voice, it was pretty plain that he was, bluntly, gayer than the Fourth of July. It was a safe bet that people automatically assumed this about him, not giving him a chance to prove them right or wrong. Like me, he was probably sick of everyone judging him on sight.

He was the first person in so many years to give me a second chance like this. Maybe Kurt was more like Prince Charming than I assumed.

As I thought, Kurt started to gather his stuff and stood, heading for the door.

"I didn't _expect _to Connect at all," I admitted, not looking at him because of the sheer cheesiness of what I was about to say. "But I always hoped to Connect to someone like you."

There was a beat of silence, during which I half expected Kurt to walk away in a huff, but he stayed where he was when I'd started speaking.

"I'm honored," he said after a moment, sounding slightly surprised. I chanced a glance up at him, analyzing his touched expression. He looked really pretty when he smiled, even if it was a tiny smile. Kurt had thought that I hated him too, which was partially true, but it was time to set the record straight.

"I guess I misjudged you too," I mumbled. I was instantly glad I said it, because the smile spread across Kurt's face and made him look happier than I'd ever seen him.

I returned the smile, if only a little, and got up to leave before the situation got any more sentimental, but according to the clock on the wall, I'd missed my bus.

"Shit," I muttered, my shoulders slumping as I began mentally preparing myself for an hour-long wait and an angry father to come home to.

"What's the matter?" Kurt asked, actual concern in his voice.

"I missed my friggin bus," I grumbled, heading back to the table. There was no way I was waiting outside, the late October wind went right through my jacket.

"I could drive you," Kurt offered hesitantly. "You know...if you wanted."

"No, it's fine...I could probably walk-"

"Blaine, I'm driving you," Kurt deadpanned, suddenly demanding. It was weird, the command he held just by quirking an eyebrow. "You'll freeze out there. It's no big deal."

My thoughts wandered to the apartment complex I lived in and the reputation it held in Lima - it was where the poor kids lived, the mess-ups. I didn't really want to ruin my second chance with Kurt by showing him that.

"It's not a big deal if I walk either," I reasoned. "It's not that far."

Kurt scrutinized me, his blue eyes piercing. "You're lying," he muttered, sounding certain.

_More strongly Connected individuals are also known to sense things like when their soul mate is lying. _Shit.

~.~.~.~

Ten minutes later we were in Kurt's Cadillac, listening to the radio and not speaking except for me to tell him where to go. His car was really nice, which only made me feel out-of-place and more uncomfortable having him drop me off. As we got closer to my apartment, he kept shooting me sideways glances, like he was wondering how my family screwed up to get stuck in this side of town. I did my best to ignore it.

It was Kurt's turn to feel out of his element when we arrived at the complex, his eyes darting around, taking in the filthy scene. When he parked I got out as quickly as possible, as if that would prevent him from taking in the full extent of my situation.

"Bye, Kurt," I said hastily, grabbing my bag and heading for the door, shutting the door just in time to hear him reply, "Bye Blaine."

After my dad buzzed me in, I made my way up the stairs slowly - it helped prolong the time I had before I had to watch my every move, terrified of angering my father. I was in a relatively good mood despite the fact that Kurt knew the kind of dump I lived in, mostly because he didn't hate me anymore.

As soon as that fact hit me, I felt something that was almost foreign to me - _hope._

That feeling, of course, promptly dissipated and was replaced by utter terror as soon as I opened my front door. My father was on the other side of it, looking drunkenly livid.

I'd forgotten to get him cigarettes, and in that act of carelessness, I knew exactly what would happen to me next.

**~.~.~.~**

**Thanks again for being so incredibly patient, because I know you didn't read the note at the top :) I promise you won't have to wait this long again and I gave you guys a kind of long chapter to try to make up for it.**

**Also, I have a fic to recommend to you all – it's called "In the Town of Lima, Ohio" by crowned queen of bitchland, a multi-chap WIP that is incredibly adorable! In it Kurt is taking care of his little brother after their parents die and Blaine is a lawyer that's totally in love with him. Please at least try it out, it's written so well!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Okay, just so there's no confusion, I screwed up on the last chapter – Blaine was supposed to get his father beer, not cigarettes, so I'll fix that soon. Sorry this took so long, I'm trying to get back on top of things, so hopefully the next chapter will be published in a week like always. Also, I'm sorry that those who reviewed last time didn't get a preview of this chapter, that won't happen again.**

** Thank you all so much for putting up with me, enjoy the chapter!**

**~.~.~.~**

"Where's my beer, boy?" my dad growled, low and dangerous.

My eyes glued themselves to the floor, the hallway eerily quiet except for the frantic thumping of my heart. No matter how many times this happened, it never got any less terrifying. I heard a door slam downstairs and wished I had the guts to call for help. With my luck, no one would come.

"I asked you a question, _faggot," _my father snapped, his spit flecking my face. I wanted to wipe it off, but my joints were stiff with fear.

It was hard to believe something could be so familiar and so blindingly terrifying at the same time, my mind moving to a dark, well-visited corner of my brain as my dad gripped the front of my shirt in a beer-sticky fist. He yanked me into the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him, shoving me onto the floor. My body stiffened and prepared for the onslaught.

_When one person in a Connected couple is in physical pain, their soul mate will feel a margin of that pain._

I could constrict our Connection. I could prevent Kurt from feeling my pain, keep him from experiencing something that had tormented me for years. It was the right thing to do, the sensible thing. Any decent person would do it.

But as I considered it, I realized Kurt's presence in my mind was actually tangible - I could sense him there, like when you know someone is standing behind you even though you can't see them. For the first time in ten years, I didn't feel completely alone.

My father swung the first of many hard kicks, his heavy foot sticking itself firmly in my ribs, but I didn't cry out. I had learned that making any sound of protest only angered him further.

Alone was the last thing I wanted to be.

I knew it was selfish and horrible, but I kept the Connection open, letting Kurt's consciousness flow into mine as the familiar routine of getting beaten into the carpet ensued, thinking alternately about what an indecent person I was and how nice it was to feel my soul mate with me through the pain.

~.~.~.~

By the time it was all over, I had a barrage of new bruises across my ribs and an incredibly sore knee from when I'd gotten up too soon. I had thought he was done, but one kick to my kneecap and a shout of, "I'm not finished with you, boy!" knocked me back onto the floor for a second round.

Kurt didn't close our Connection even a little bit. He mentally stayed with me the whole time, and whether it was because he wanted to or because he didn't know he could limit our Connection was anyone's guess. Maybe he hadn't gotten The Talk yet either, but either way, I was extremely grateful for his company.

Not only that, but after it stopped, a great sense of peace just kind of washed over me, something I wasn't acquainted with. Normally after an episode like that, I would just get as far away from my father as I could without leaving the apartment and assess the damage done while trying not to make any sound, but there was no need this time. I felt perfectly at ease, almost eerily so, like I had been drugged.

As I laid on the carpet, I let my eyes slip closed, ignoring my father muttering to himself at the dining room table, just enjoying the peacefulness. I got this overall feeling that everything was okay, that there was nothing to worry about. I could just go to sleep, nothing else really mattered...

It didn't occur to me until I was nearly unconscious that my euphoria might've been Kurt's doing.

~.~.~.~

I dreamt of drowning again. This time instead of singing I heard whispers, a soft voice right at my ear telling me soothing things I couldn't understand.

_Kurt, _my subconscious recognized, holding tight to the sound of his voice.

His voice couldn't leave. Bad things would happen if it did, because I would be alone again. Alone and empty.

_Blaine, _the voice murmured, the warm water hugging me. _It's okay, Blaine._

And surprisingly, it was.

~.~.~.~

On the bus ride to school, I thought about how Kurt had somehow managed to calm me down after my father's beating. He barely knew me, and yet he had endured all of those horrific feelings I exposed him to, and then went a step further and helped me be okay afterwards. I couldn't imagine why anyone would do that for me, even someone as forgiving as Kurt seemed to be. He had seen where I lived, so he must've known that I had nothing to give back. Why would he do that if not expecting something in return?

I had a limp from when my father kicked my knee, earning me a few odd glances in the hallway. It occurred to me that it must look a bit suspicious, but I had given up all hope of staying in the closet as soon as I Connected to Kurt. Especially now that we were actually on speaking terms, the word would be getting around if he hadn't already complained about me to all his friends.

Dread flooded me as I recalled what happened the last time I got outed at my old school - those had been the worst couple of months of my life and I wasn't eager to revisit them. Transferring schools had seemed like a quite literally lifesaver, but all it had done was turn my life upside-down.

I followed my usual routine at lunch, using my free lunch tickets required by my father's low income to get something that vaguely resembled a calzone. I sat down at the nearest vacated table, alone with my thoughts since people weren't that keen to sit by me. Sometimes I got jealous of the guys around me that could just sit next to their friends and mess around during lunch, but it was hard to imagine myself being able to just get along with someone that easily. Did normal people just automatically _get _each other?

I nearly jumped when I glanced up to see Kurt standing over me.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked with a small smile and a quirk in his eyebrow. He wasn't even acknowledging the multiple people staring at him as he broke the sacred code of mixing cliques. I shook my head and Kurt instantly settled into the seat across from me, eating his pizza and side salad in silence, during which I gaped at him like a fish.

"Why aren't you sitting with your friends?" I managed to ask. Surely Kurt had better people to associate himself with than me - had he been sitting with a group when we Connected?

"Like I said, I want to get to know you," he shrugged. "Besides, you looked lonely over here."

My eyes fell to my food because oh my _god, _what was happening? This situation could not possibly be as simple as it seemed, things like this didn't just happen to me.

"What do you want from me, Kurt?" I demanded as gently as one can demand something. "My life isn't exactly a fairytale; I can't be your Prince Charming or whatever."

"I'm not expecting anything from you, Blaine," Kurt answered nonchalantly. "Let's just get to know each other, and then...we'll see what happens. No pressure or anything."

Oh. "Get to know each other", A.K.A. "I want to know exactly how dangerous of a kid criminal you are". This I had seen before.

"I'm assuming you want to know why I've been to juvie so many times," I muttered.

"You assume correctly."

Well, I had to give him credit - no one had ever asked about my criminal record so casually.

I wasn't quite sure if I was ready to tell Kurt that I hadn't been shoplifting like a normal rebellious teenager. Telling him the truth, that I only stole because I didn't want to starve or get my ass kicked, would ignite a whole new issue that I wasn't willing to cope with: pity. Pity sometimes did even worse things for a relationship than fear. People could never see you the same way again once they started to pity you - suddenly you aren't capable of taking care of yourself, in their eyes at least. They start looking down on you and offering to help so much that it lowers your self-esteem.

I couldn't lie to Kurt, but maybe I could avoid the question until he knew me enough that his image of me wouldn't be _that _distorted.

"The stealing is a long story," I muttered. "But the charges of assault and battery...I was bullied at my old school for being gay and...other reasons," like living in less than a shack and having a fucked up father, "and at one point it got pretty physical. I was just trying to give them what they gave me, but what I didn't know was that one of the guys had a big-shot lawyer for an uncle."

Unpleasant memories reared their ugly heads, of being beat up behind the school by some guy that thought he was better than me just because he had money and loving parents and a girlfriend. I wasn't about to prove him right, so I broke his nose and the next thing I knew, I was being carted off to juvie for the fifth time.

"I was actually glad I transferred here," I admitted, deciding that Kurt didn't need to know the details quite yet. "No one here knows I'm gay, but of course that'll be out the window soon."

"I won't tell anyone about this, you know," Kurt said earnestly. My eyebrows rose in surprise. "I'm the only 'out' guy at this school and I'm bullied constantly. Santana and Brittany are the only other gay couple, but they're Cheerios and girls, which I guess gives them special privileges."

He looked so resigned as he said the last part, it killed me a little bit. I knew firsthand how much it sucked to be used to regular abuse, physical or emotional.

"How bad is it? The bullying, I mean," I asked quietly, wondering how much further it extended than getting thrown against lockers everyday.

"Not as bad as it could be. I know I'm lucky it's not worse, but..."

He let the sentence hang, then shrugged it off like his opinion didn't matter. I was starting to admire Kurt more and more - anyone who looked at him would see someone confident and proud of who they were, not a kid who got harassed on a daily basis. Not like me. I practically screamed "kid from a broken home".

"It doesn't mean that what you're getting isn't bad," I reasoned. A genuine smile pulled at Kurt's lips, a small laugh bubbling up.

"Wow. I'm not used to talking to someone who actually _knows _what I'm going through," he said incredulously, and I had to smile a little too, because it really was a great feeling.

~.~.~.~

**REVIEW = PREVIEW**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I know this one is short, but I've been confined to only one hour of computer time per day. You can thank my dad for that. Anyway, I'm working on this story as much as I can and I'll have another chapter up soon. I apologize to all of you that didn't get a preview of this chapter, but I figured you'd rather I spend time actually **_**writing **_**the chapters. Thank you so much for your patience, I'm so sorry for the delays.**

**~.~.~.~**

I was actually elated by the time lunch was over - Kurt and I had talked the entire time without an awkward pause about everything from our favorite music to Kurt's dad's upcoming wedding. He hadn't even seemed to mind when I preferred not to talk about my family, our conversation the most normal I'd had with someone in so long. It was a huge relief, having Kurt treat me like a normal person despite the fact that I had just told him I went to juvie for beating someone up. I could even call us friends now.

History class didn't seem as dull as it normally did, though I did find myself wishing it would end soon because my next class was with Kurt. I was out of my seat the second the bell rang, making my way to English so quickly that only a few people were there, but I hadn't gotten five steps in the door when Mr. Randy called me to his desk and my mood deflated a little.

"Mr. Anderson, did you and Mr. Hummel get the chance to edit your essays yet?" he asked, wiping the grime from his glasses on a rag and not even bothering to look at me.

"Yes, Kurt has mine, he should bring it today-"

"You didn't give him any trouble, did you?" the teacher asked bluntly.

"No, everything went fine," I sighed, far too used to this.

"Good. Kurt Hummel is one of my best students, I won't have you distracting him during class, either."

"I don't intend to."

"Don't take that innocent tone with me, I've read your file," he grumbled. I could easily imagine him complaining to other teachers in the staff lounge about getting stuck with me in his class. "I'm keeping a close watch on you, don't think being partnered with Mr. Hummel means you get to slack off and let him do all the work. I expect you to pull your share of the weight, too."

He shooed me away with his hand before I could say anything, leaving me to retreat to the back of the room with a resigned sigh. Only when Kurt walked in and flashed a smile at me did I perk up, managing a small grin when he sat next to me. He began chatting my ear off about a Lady Gaga-esque outfit he'd designed last year and how he planned to mail it in to the House of Gaga in case they wanted to use it, talking enthusiastically with his hands as he described it to me, and I realized he was pretty adorable when he got excited about something.

During class I got to thinking about all the possibilities, now that Kurt and I were friends. I had so many scenarios planned in my head from nights when I would lay in bed and try to block out the throbbing pain, so many things I wanted to do with my soul mate once I found him. They were trivial things, but everyday occurrences like going to a coffee shop together seemed like the best thing in the world when you were trying not to feel new bruises forming right on top of old ones. Besides, I owed Kurt for giving me a second chance and a ride home. I made up my mind to do something nice for him, not necessarily romantic, but something we could both enjoy together.

But first, I needed money.

~.~.~.~

After school that day I took the city bus downtown, or at least the Lima excuse for downtown. It was just a few streets wide - some people would call it endearing, a charming little town, but I knew the dingy alleys and some of the things that happened in them that I was sure weren't considered charming.

I highly doubted Kurt would want me to pay for whatever we were going to do together with money I pick-pocketed; something I resorted to when funds were short and my father was having a craving for cigarettes or the landlord came around barking about rent. Every time I had done it felt awful, making me feel like I was just a leech clinging to society, taking from it and not giving anything back. I was just a useless fucking parasite.

Of course what I was going to do instead made me feel awful too, and was equally illegal, but it felt more...fair, in a sick kind of way. At least, I felt like I earned the money I got from it.

I waited in the alley between the liquor store and pawnshop, leaning up against the grimy brick wall and trying to look as small and innocent as possible. It wasn't hard. I just stared at my shoes, toeing at the grit on the cracked concrete. I really liked these shoes - they were Converse I had found in a dumpster behind a strip mall. You could find the best things in store dumpsters, like products that were slightly damaged so they were still usable but not sale worthy. One of these shoes had a bit of the sole that was slightly deformed, but they had still been in the box and everything and I'd worn them so much that the rubber had flattened, so you couldn't even tell anymore.

A few guys came out of the liquor store, their raucous manner jolting me out of my thoughts and making me think they were already drunk. One of them saw me and exchanged sly glances with his two buddies, all of them dressed in too-big, dirty clothes and toting brown paper bags. I gave them a small smile, hoping to appear seductive or something, but these guys didn't seem to need much convincing. With an obvious sway in their gait, they approached me.

"I'll give you ten for a handjob," one of them whispered, his beer breath right at my ear as he tucked a few bills in my pocket. He pulled back to give me a yellowed smile. He was about thirty and had stringy, dirty blonde hair that went to his chin, which was covered in stubble, and cold, hungry blue eyes. Not nearly as pretty as Kurt's, but I reckoned no one could wear blue eyes as well as Kurt.

As I thought of him, I constricted our Connection - this was something I could handle on my own, however foul the experience. Nothing could justify me letting him feel all that.

I nodded at the man and tried to stop my hands from shaking as I waited for him to unzip his pants, refusing to look and biting back a sound of disgust as he grabbed my hand by the wrist and forced it around his hardening cock. It was hot and sticky with precum and I stroked him off as quickly as I could, keeping my eyes squeezed shut and thinking of every song I knew to drown out the man's moans. This part never got any easier or less revolting, but it helped me get by.

When he was finished, his cum shooting in sticky ropes onto my hand, he clapped me on the back and zipped up his pants without even cleaning up, like this was the most nonchalant thing in the world, when I had to use all my self control not to throw up.

"Alright, my turn!" said the guy's buddy, who'd been waiting around the corner and was obviously eager.

I felt like crying - I already had enough money to last me, but saying no to these guys wouldn't exactly be a smart thing to do, so I flicked the drying substance off my fingers and tried my best to block everything out.

~.~.~.~

I puked twice that night. Lying in bed, I could feel a ghost of the drunkards' heavy lengths in my hand, which I had washed so violently it had turned red. It was hard to get to sleep, probably because I was so desperate for it, and I tried to turn my thoughts to other things.

Whilst trying to distract myself, I decided that I would take Kurt out to coffee. Everyone liked coffee, right? I figured it would be better than a movie; more time to socialize and get to know each other, because talking to Kurt really was one of my favorite things now. Oh god, what if I asked him to go and he turned me down?

Well, at least I wouldn't have to be worried about being hungry for a while.

But he would probably say yes, especially if I made it very clear that this was non-romantic. Kurt seemed to like me a bit, and he'd said himself that he wanted to get to know me.

I turned over on the sagging couch cushions and smiled at the thought of treating my soul mate to a not-really-a-date at a coffee shop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: There's only so many times I can apologize for updating so late, but I really am sorry. Unfortunately, my plate isn't any less full, so it's going to be a while before the next chapter is up, thank you all so much for your patience. I tried to make this one extra long, you definitely deserve it.**

**~.~.~.~**

As it turned out, asking Kurt on the not-really-a-date was harder than I thought.

Of course my nerves were strung tighter than ever, since this was practically the first time I'd had a good relationship with someone my age since I left elementary school, and I didn't want to screw this up. But also, my father had recently decided that due to me forgetting his booze after my trip to the library with Kurt, I now couldn't leave the house unless he knew exactly where I was going. Then he had to approve the place I was going, which he usually didn't unless it was school or the liquor store.

He still beat me regularly, but it wasn't too bad, really. They usually only went on for about ten minutes before he got bored. I felt awful for leaving my Connection to Kurt open during those times, but I really did need him. I didn't think I could ever go through something like that alone again.

Kurt never spoke to me about why he had to calm me down almost everyday after school, and I couldn't tell if it was out of courtesy or lack of interest that he did this. We seemed to be getting along pretty well - he sat with me at lunch and we talked about music and stuff during English, but I had a feeling that Kurt just saw me as a person to talk to, not a particularly close friend. We didn't even talk about personal things, though that might've just been because we always conversed in crowded areas.

It was nearly a month later that I just decided to suck it up and ask him to go out for coffee with me. Friends could platonically go out for coffee, right? Yes, definitely...even if those two friends happened to be soul mates...maybe.

Regardless of how Kurt viewed our outing, I was determined to spend the well-earned money that sat heavily in my pocket at all times on something nice for us, not for my father or the landlord.

At the end of English on Friday, I finally asked him.

"Do you wanna grab a coffee tomorrow or something?" The words kind of tumbled out in a rush, but it was worth it when a smile spread across Kurt's face. The knot in my stomach that had been slowly tightening over the last month loosened greatly.

"Sure, I'll pick you up around three?" Kurt verified, slight shock in his voice.

"Sounds good," I said in relief, though part of me still wished that _me _picking _him _up was an option.

~.~.~.~

The tricky part was getting out of the house by three the next day. Saturday was my father's only day off, his favorite day, which I had hoped would make him more willing to let me go, but no such luck. I tried going quietly at first while he attempted to get the television working again (it hadn't gotten anything but static for the last two years), but he heard me undoing the chain in the door and whipped around like a dog to a whistle.

"Where're you goin'?" he grumbled, like it annoyed him that I had the ability to get up and move and make decisions for myself.

"Library," I answered shortly. "School project."

"You goin' alone?"

"My friend is picking me up."

He gave a short, harsh laugh at this.

"Uh-huh," he said doubtfully, going back to messing with the wires on the back of the TV. "Get me some beer while you're out, this damn thing's drivin' me nuts."

"Um..." Crap. "H-he was just going to drop me right back here after-"

"Dammit boy, is it so much trouble to get me a fuckin' beer?" he snapped, flipping like a switch from lazy to infuriated. He turned back to me again, eyes wild. "After all I done for you, you gonna make me skimp on my beer just so your little friend doesn't see you nickin' it for me?"

I was backed up against the wall at that point, staring at the ground and clenching my jaw tight to stop the tears, when the buzzer on our door rang, signaling that Kurt was here to pick me up.

My father stood suddenly and I tried to duck out the door, but he seized my collar and pulled my face close to his. Our eyes locked and the only sound for what felt like a long time was my heart thumping frantically and the television picking up static. I could feel my dad's hot breath on my face as he huffed like a winded rhinoceros, my eyes wide with fear.

When he let me go I was too afraid to move, just watching him like one would a mad dog. He seemed to have calmed down a bit, backing down and sighing, exhausted my my apparent insolence.

Just as I was about to reach for the door handle, he slapped me so hard across the face that my vision became a black tunnel for a few seconds.

Still dizzy from the blow, I got out of the apartment and bounded down the stairs as fast as I could, nearly tripping down them.

When I reached the bottom, Kurt was waiting for me on the other side of the set of glass doors, his expression frantic. I checked over my shoulder to see if my dad had followed me, carding my hands through my hair. I couldn't hear his thundering steps on the stair, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Blaine, what's going on?" Kurt asked me seriously the moment I opened the door.

"Nothing," I said as nonchalantly as I could. I started towards the car, but Kurt stopped me with a hand on my chest, his eyes icy as they raked my face.

"Don't 'nothing' me, Anderson," he said in a voice so dangerously sharp he could've given my father a run for his money.

I could tell Kurt wasn't backing down anytime soon, but if my dad happened to look out the window and see this, he would surely come stumbling down, and I couldn't let him see Kurt. Kurt was the one thing in my life that my father hadn't ruined yet.

For a panicked moment I just debated how to quickly explain to Kurt that we couldn't stay, but there was no time.

"Not here," I begged.

Evidently I looked desperate enough for Kurt to agree, or maybe he could feel it, because we got in his car in silence. This was _not _how I wanted this day to go.

~.~.~.~

The air was rather awkward as we waited in line for coffee - we still hadn't said a word to each other, and I wondered if Kurt was mad at me. Slowly, I opened our Connection just a bit, but I didn't sense any anger.

It was our turn to order then, the barista looking between us expectantly.

"I'll have a medium drip, and a grande non-fat mocha for him," I said automatically, jerking my head towards Kurt. Honestly I had just asked for the first coffee I saw on the menu board - it had been years since I had enough spare cash to get something like this.

I was admittedly excited to be paying for Kurt's drink, as a very small thank you for all he'd done for me, but my excitement shattered like glass when Kurt handed the barista money before I could fish mine out of my pocket.

"You didn't have to pay for that," I mumbled, feeling a bit like a little kid who had just been told by a grown-up that he wasn't old enough to do something. The worker handed us our drinks and we went to sit at the table by the window

"I wanted to," Kurt said warmly, oblivious to how much I had done just to take him out for coffee. "but don't try to distract me. I know for a fact that your cheek is still hurting from getting slapped, what happened?"

"How did you know about that?" I asked stupidly, the dull sting that I'd been ignoring moving to the forefront of my thoughts.

"How did you know my coffee order?" Kurt retorted.

Oh. Right.

I groaned internally because this was not what I imagined us talking about, really just wanting to change the subject and get to know each other more, anything but _this. _As soon as I told Kurt the details, he'd never look at me the same way again. He already treated me differently, hence paying for our drinks even though _I _invited _him_. I knew he was just trying to help, but my pride took a beating.

"It's not a big deal..." I said under my breath. Couldn't he just drop it?

"Yes it is a big deal!" Kurt said incredulously. "I can feel your emotions, I _know _something happens to you nearly everyday after school that scares you half to death. If you're getting hurt, it's a big deal to _me, _Blaine."

I glanced up at him in surprise, reading the pleading look on his face. So he didn't know exactly what it was I went through, but...this was the first time anyone had been concerned about me like this. On one hand I almost wanted to cry with relief because someone was _finally _making an effort to help me, to pull me out of this cycle of despair, but on the other hand...I didn't want Kurt to see me as a charity project. This relationship was supposed to be symbiotic, but he seemed to to think I had nothing to give back to him. Maybe I didn't.

"You're my soul mate," Kurt continued quietly. His crazy beautiful eyes were begging me so intensely that my gaze fell to examine my coffee. "We may not know each other very well or be ready for a relationship, but the fact is you're important to me and I don't want you getting hurt."

I honestly didn't know what to think about that. I wasn't important. It was just a fact. But I couldn't see Kurt giving up anytime soon, so now was a time as good as any to spill.

"I guess you're going to find out eventually, since we can practically read each other's minds," I muttered. I twisted the silver band around my little finger, one of my mother's few possessions that I'd managed to salvage before my dad hocked them. I supposed my story should start there, so I locked my gaze with Kurt's again and began.

"My dad isn't the most accepting person. At my old school I put my trust in the wrong person and they outed me to the whole student body. Like I told you before, I was bullied for it, and eventually the principal called my dad to tell him I was subject to homophobic bullying."

Kurt's face was colored with pity that I didn't want, but it felt so good to finally tell someone that story.

"Ever since he found out...things have been going downhill," I finished bitterly.

"What does he do to you, Blaine?" Kurt murmured with concern.

I felt like a little boy complaining to a teacher about bullies I should be able to handle myself. What could Kurt even do about it, anyway? This was my battle, not his. Still, my throat closed up at the knowledge that someone was actually _listening _to me.

"Usually he hits me. Sometimes he throws things. He's always drunk when he does it," I said in a small voice.

Kurt's worry for me mounted until I could feel it through our Connection. The emotional turmoil in the room was so strong I was surprised people weren't staring.

All I had wanted was a casual coffee with Kurt.

"I'm here, you know," he said in a voice that reminded me of a grief counselor. "You don't have to go through this alone."

But that was complete bullshit. Kurt may have been comforting me when my father got angry, but now I knew that he hadn't the slightest idea what was actually happening to me. It was nice of him to try to help me anyway, but he never even asked before now what was going on. Even if he did know, there was nothing he could do to help; I felt a lot of emotions pulsing from Kurt to me as I explained, but none of those emotions was understanding.

"Like you know what I'm going through?" I asked coldly. "Look at your life, you don't know how this feels. You don't know what it's like to have a parent love you one day and the next it's like you never had one-"

"My mother died when I was eight," Kurt cut in, his voice like a knife. Clearly I had struck a nerve, never having seen him so upset. "I know my life isn't as bad as yours, Blaine, but that doesn't mean I can't help you."

I was so overwhelmed with a horde of jumbled feelings - my own, not Kurt's - that I had to hold back tears of frustration, which only made it worse. Of course I wanted help to get out of my situation, it was all I'd ever wanted for years, but not from Kurt. It wasn't his job to take responsibility of me. We were supposed to be having fun together, escaping from all the horrible things in the world for a while, not diving right into it. I didn't want Kurt to be a part of that side of my life. I could deal with whatever my father threw at me - literally and figuratively - as long as I could just not think about any of that when I was with my soul mate.

Kurt pitied me. He saw me as weak, helpless, and no one could blame me for just wanting him to see me as his friend.

"Maybe I don't want your help," I muttered. "Maybe I don't wanna look like some pity-party worthy, abused kid from the poor side of town. Did you ever consider that?"

I left quickly after that without even looking at Kurt, not wanting him to see the tears that I just couldn't keep at bay any longer.

~.~.~.~

While waiting at the bus stop, trying to calm down enough to stem my tears, I came to a decision: before Kurt and I went any further, I had to make sure he understood that I could take care of myself. As much as I hated it, I had been doing it since age seven.

I sniffled from a mix of crying and cold November weather, wishing the zipper on my jacket hadn't been busted since the day I got it. Crap, I had left my coffee on the table too...

I wondered vaguely if Kurt would even want to speak to me again. I had been pretty harsh, he was only trying to help. But driving me to the cafe, paying for the coffee, and acting social worker had been a bit overboard.

As annoying as his attitude toward me was, I didn't want to lose Kurt. He was the best thing that had happened to me since Mom left and the first real friend I'd had in ages; I really hoped I hadn't screwed this up. I _couldn't _screw this up.

~.~.~.~

On Monday, Kurt came marching up to me at lunch. I expected him to start firing retorts at me about how I couldn't talk to him like I had back at the Lima Bean, but he just sat down across from me like everything was normal. He didn't even seem upset, and I examined his face for any signs of hostility.

"I need to talk to you," he said purposefully before I could even speak to ask what the hell was going through his head. "Blaine, if you're getting hurt by your father, I'm not just going to let you sulk. We have to do something about this."

I honestly would've preferred that he yelled at me for treating him harshly. That was the kind of thing friends did, not this. I continued eating my nachos, hoping Kurt would drop the subject if I just ignored him.

"Blaine, please listen to me," he implored, but I kept my eyes on my food, resisting the urge to roll them up to the ceiling. "I don't want anything to happen to you, especially with the knowledge that I could've done something to prevent it. We need to notify the police, or-"

"No!"

The word flew off my tongue before I thought about it. I was looking at Kurt now, his eyes full of confusion.

"I-I mean..." I stuttered, trying frantically to cover up my slip. People from surrounding tables were staring. "Kurt, please don't call the cops, just...please..."

In all the years of being stamped down by my father, one thing I had never even been tempted to do was chuck him in jail. Not only was he the only actual family I had that didn't abandon me, but every time I considered escaping from him that way, all I could see was Dad in a prison cell. _My _dad, before he'd turned nasty, the one who read me a book before bed and did funny voices for the different characters and let me have a little extra dessert after Mom left the table as our little secret.

I was all he had now. He needed me to take care of him, he had trusted me all these years not to turn him in. He may not have been the best father to me, but he was still the only one I'd ever had. I couldn't betray him like that.

"Why not?" Kurt asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Well...I'm not in any immediate danger," I reasoned. I couldn't expect Kurt to understand my real motives; he'd only spoken about his own dad a few times, but he always mentioned him fondly. "He needs me. I look fine, don't I? You can't even tell he hits me." Or kicks me. Or had the tendency to throw beer bottles at my head. "Besides, who's gonna believe me? With my criminal record, it's my word against his, and he's never been in trouble with the law before. It'll do no good."

There was that pitying look on Kurt's face again. But there was something else, too - it was almost like he was pleading with me, like it was hurting him too. Maybe it was, but he never closed our Connection.

"It's worth a shot," he said imploringly. "I can't just let you go through this knowing I didn't even _try _to do anything about it."

"Kurt, please," I begged quietly, trying to get him to understand.

Something changed in Kurt's face that I couldn't quite place, followed by a soft sigh of defeat.

"...Okay," he said hesitantly. "But if you are ever in any _real _danger, you have to let me know."

Alright, this was almost offensive - Kurt hadn't even bothered to ask what kind of danger I was in until two days ago.

"I'll be the judge of that," I decided. "Now why don't you go back and sit with your little Glee friends."

Kurt raised his eyebrows in surprise and I regretted snapping a little bit, but he needed to realize that I could make decisions about my life for myself.

He left and sat with his group of strangely attractive misfits, and after that we didn't sit next to each other for a week. We didn't talk in English, and I admittedly missed him, but I knew that the next conversation we had would be about my father and I didn't want to go down that road again.

My dad beat me three times during our span of not talking, but Kurt still didn't close the Connection and I could feel him calming me down, even after how rude I had been to him. I honestly didn't deserve someone like Kurt.

~.~.~.~

On Friday afternoon I was at home working on homework, my father not due home from the factory for another hour, when the front door banged open.

I jumped violently, my thoughts going right to burglars, but it was just my dad. He looked exhausted, running his hand through what little hair he had left and tossing a crinkled-up wad of paper onto the table beside my textbook. It looked like a check.

"Something wrong?" I asked hesitantly.

"There sure as hell _is _something wrong," he grumbled in response, collapsing onto the sagging couch. "That right there is my last paycheck. That bastard fired me."

My blood ran cold - I knew I was in trouble. I guessed his friend couldn't stand his slicking any longer and let him go, but I wasn't as worried about why it happened as I was about the consequences it would have.

The last time my dad lost his job I was thirteen and had already been to juvie twice. We ended up getting evicted from the trailer we were renting at the time, back when we lived in Westerville, and we lived on the street for a year and a half, which was why I was currently in my sophomore year when I should've been a junior. During that time I got really good at stealing, learned a few tricks, and it still gave me a pit of guilt in my stomach. Most shelters didn't take men, and although most of them took boys my age, I wouldn't leave my dad. He was literally all I had besides the clothes on my back and a shoebox with a few belongings I couldn't part with.

We moved from city to city, my dad visiting old friends and begging for a place to stay or work, but most of them knew him too well to fall for it. It wasn't until we got to Lima that we were able to settle down again.

But now, I knew it wouldn't be long before we had to go through all of that again.

"Gimme that," Dad said after a few minutes, nodding at the crumpled check and holding out his hand. I tossed the paper to him and he stuffed it in his pocket, heading towards the door again.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a beer."

He slammed the door shut and I was left to marinate in my panic and dread. I didn't want to go back to sleeping in alleyways or begging or stealing and scouring Ohio for shelters that would take men in hopes of getting a warm shower and something good to eat. That...and what the hell would Kurt think?

The other shit I had been through before and I could do it again if I had to, but I had just gotten Kurt. I had just gotten the one thing I'd been looking forward to all my life, and I was about to lose it. Kurt would probably want to pretend I didn't exist for shame of having a bum for a soul mate, and even if he didn't, it wasn't like we could keep in touch once my dad dragged me all over the state on a job hunt. We would most likely have to leave Ohio this time.

I felt like I was going to cry, my chest already seizing up and my throat aching as I felt my life crumbling apart around me. I should have known it was only a matter of time, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

In an attempt to distract myself and pretend that everything was normal, I continued with my Geometry homework. If a few tears dripped onto my notebook, I ignored them.

Dad came back about an hour later, drunk as piss and muttering curse words. I didn't look up from my textbook until I felt something brush my hair as it flew past my head, followed by the sound of shattering glass on the wall behind me.

"This...is all _your _fault," my father growled like an angered dog. He took a few staggering steps toward me and I gulped, shrinking back. He stared at me for a good long while, the silence ringing in my ears, before suddenly backhanding me so hard I fell out of my chair. When I tried to get up, he shoved my by the shoulders into the wall so that I fell onto the pile of glass from the bottle.

I had never seen such a dangerous look in his eye - it was almost murderous and made me decide against trying to get up again.

He took advantage of this, sending a hard kick into my gut, the toe of his boot just barely missing my ribcage. I nearly threw up, but he aimed his foot at my head next. Luckily his wits were slow from the drink and I had time to turn my head away; he only clipped my jaw, but it still hurt like hell.

I could feel Kurt there with me, worrying about me, and I seriously considered closing our Connection this time. This outburst felt different, more ruthless. Usually Dad would make sure I wasn't too injured and unable to steal for him, but now it just felt like he was going to go all out, a constant stream of the words "faggot" and "it's all your fault" tumbling from his mouth. He didn't even look like my father anymore.

After a few more blows to my stomach he gripped my hair in his fist and used it to pull me up to my knees, taking all of my strength not to cry out in pain as I squeezed my eyes shut. My heart was racing in terror as he punched me in the face with his left hand, still holding my hair in his right, my vision spinning. He punched me again, and again, almost in the same spot, but after the second one I didn't really feel like I was there anymore. Instead I was falling, far and fast.

_Kurt would want you to fight back. He wouldn't want you to let him do this to you._

My eyes snapped open and I grabbed my dad's fist on its way to my face, making him freeze with shock. His grip on my hair loosened just long enough for me to jerk away and get to my feet, and when he came at me again I was ready. I dodged his hands and shoved him aside, making for the door. I had to get out until he passed out, or at least came to his senses a bit. He wasn't himself right now.

It wasn't until I heard the ring of metal that I realized how out of it he truly was.

I turned on the spot with my fingers poised on the door handle and saw my dad standing in the kitchen doorway, brandishing the biggest knife we owned.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, like I shoulda done years ago," he snarled, but I was out the door before he finished his sentence. Once it was shut between us, I held it closed so tightly I thought the handle might break off. Dad tugged at it and slammed his fist against it repeatedly, but I had found some reserve of strength.

It took me a moment to realize I was crying now. There were no harsh sobs, but my face was wet because all I could see in my mind was the memory of my childhood father, my _real _father, layered over the image of the man with the knife behind the door. Maybe I could just wait it out until he calmed down...

_The fact is you're important to me and I don't want you getting hurt._

Kurt's words from the Lima Bean echoed in my mind and made me cry harder, my face crumpling and shoulders shaking. If my dad had flown off the handle like this before I met Kurt, there would've been no way I could do this. I would be dead. I would've just let it happen. But now, I meant something to someone, someone that didn't like to use me as a punching bag, someone that was currently doing their best to calm me down and worrying themselves sick about me.

I had to do this. For Kurt.

Without a second glance, I let go of the door and started running, taking the stairs three at a time. My heart was pounding and tears were blurring my vision, slamming open the front door and not slowing as I ran down the street. I had no clue if my father cared enough to chase after me, but I needed to get away from that horrible place and I never wanted to see it again.

I didn't slow my pace until I got out to an empty road that ran along a bit of farmland, and only then did I notice it was raining. Despite the cold November wind I was sweating, my breath coming out in great white clouds as I kept walking. I wasn't even sure where I was heading, but I knew it was somewhere safer than the one I had just left.

I kept going until I hit houses, and by then my legs were shaking and it was completely dark out, but still raining. My leather jacket didn't really do much to keep out the cold, but I hugged it close anyway. I was cold and hungry and tired, but in a way, I felt amazing. I was finally _free._

The houses got bigger the farther I walked, and some of them had their curtains open and lights on so I had a clear view inside. They all looked so warm and happy, the little people at their tables and couches, but I was going somewhere better.

It wasn't until I reached the homeliest looking house that I stopped. It _felt _welcoming, even though I couldn't see anyone in the window, it felt like the house was calling me in. Maybe I was so exhausted I was delusional, but I trudged up the steps with aching legs and knocked on the front door.

After a moment, it swung open to reveal a burly, balding man in his forties. I didn't doubt my decision for a second - I knew those eyes.

"Can I help you?" the man deadpanned, eyeing me in suspicion the way most adults did.

"Is Kurt here?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. "I'm...a friend of his from school."

At that moment Kurt came hurtling around the corner, his eyes panic-stricken as he took in the sight of me, and I realized I must look like hell, but seeing him made me feel safer than I had in hours.

"Blaine!" he exclaimed, and I didn't even have time to say hi before he was pulling me inside.

Two other people who I assumed were Carole and Finn, from what Kurt had told me, had come to see what was going on. Kurt shut the door behind me and the woman I thought was Carole left for a moment and came back with a blanket, which she wrapped around me in a way that made me feel smothered, but the warmth wasn't unwelcome.

They were all staring at me for a few seconds, which was extremely awkward and I spent it looking at the floor. This was not a great first impression to make with my soul mate's family and I was extremely thankful when Kurt intervened.

"Let's get you down to my room," he muttered, a gentle hand at my back guiding me through the living room.

"Hey, wait, hold on," a sharp voice interrupted, stopping Kurt in his tracks as his dad stared me down. "Kurt, I don't even know this kid, you can't just let him into the house-"

"Are you really going to turn him away, Dad?" Kurt challenged.

"Kurt, what am I supposed to do?"

My throat closed up again and I debated leaving right then - this was a bad idea, I never should have come here...

"Just let me get him warm. I promise I'll explain everything in a few minutes," Kurt insisted. Worry was practically wafting off of him, which was the only reason I didn't run right back out the front door.

After some coaxing from Carole, Kurt's dad agreed reluctantly. I was led down a flight of stairs into what must've been Kurt's bedroom - it couldn't have belonged to anyone else, the whole place practically screamed Armani. It even smelled like him, giving the place an aura of familiarity.

Kurt left my side for a few moments, rummaging through a dresser and returning with a small stack of clothes.

"Go shower and change," he said softly. "I've got a lot of explaining to do."

"I'm sorry," I said as earnestly as I could. "I didn't have anywhere else to go..."

"Don't worry about it. We'll talk about this later, go warm up before you catch a cold."

I nodded and took the clothes he offered, going into the bathroom I had seen on my way downstairs and shutting the door behind me. I heard muffled footfalls as Kurt went up to talk to his father and examined my surroundings.

Everything in the bathroom was white or grey, like the bedroom, except for dark blue, fluffy towels hanging on the rack. A whole horde of expensive-looking lotions and balms and face washes and masks took up residency on the counter, making me feel extremely out of place, and I got the shower running before it got to my head.

The water was so incredibly warm and the showerhead actually felt pressurized instead of just letting the water trickle out, I wanted to stay in forever. It soothed my bruises and washed away the blood from a cut on my forehead I hadn't even known was there until the water turned pink, but I didn't want to impose, so I got out as soon as I was clean. The towels were as soft as they looked, and it was all so wonderful compared to what I'd just come back from that I almost forgot about the angry dad upstairs.

I dried off and put on the sweatpants and t-shirt Kurt gave me, which were softer than anything I owned even if they were a little big. I was pretty sure that this outfit alone was worth more than my entire wardrobe.

Kurt was setting up an air mattress on the floor by the foot of his bed when I came out, which I took as a sign that his dad was letting me stay the night.

"You can put your clothes in the dryer," Kurt said after I helped him put on the fitted sheet. I followed his directions around the corner to the laundry room, sticking my rain-soaked outfit in the machine and laying my leather jacket over it to drip-dry. When I came back, Kurt was armed with a jar of ointment.

"Here," he said, coming towards me, and I backed away on impulse.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm treating your cut so it won't get infected."

I let him approach me and dab some sticky substance above my right eyebrow, wincing because that was where my father has punched me countless times, but Kurt was deliberately tender. When he offered to treat my bruises too, I agreed and silently wondered if he had a magic goop for everything.

"Where did you get these scars?" he asked as he applied the second cream. I assumed he was talking about the little ones all over my face, but with the amount of scars I had collected, there was no real way to know.

"He likes to throw beer bottles at my head," I said as casually as I could manage. "He's a pretty bad aim when he's drunk, but the shards go everywhere." I felt a flare of pity from him and really just wished I could go to sleep - the night had been long enough and the hot shower had left me drowsy.

"My dad said you could stay the night," Kurt stated once he was done with the ointment, obviously trying to change the subject. "He'll probably want to talk to you tomorrow about what happened. I had to tell him we were Connected to convince him to let you stay."

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, which really freaking hurt. I didn't see any reason his dad wouldn't know before about our Connection - I'd always pictured Kurt going home to complain about his delinquent soul mate to his family as soon as school got out the day we met.

"You didn't tell him before?" I verified.

"Of course not, I didn't want to out you," Kurt replied as if it were obvious.

Kurt got ready for bed and I laid down on the air mattress, my aching muscles relaxing and making me sigh with relief. I was fairly certain I could sleep for three days straight.

"Oh no, Anderson," said Kurt's voice from the bathroom doorway just as I was drifting off, and my head lifted off the pillow to look at him. "You're sleeping on the bed. You deserve it."

I felt color rise in my cheeks, but I knew better than to argue with him, so I climbed up onto Kurt's bed and under the cloud-like comforter. Actually, his whole bed was like a cloud, so unlike the couch I was used to - the cushions on that thing were so thin you could feel the springs poking you from underneath them. On Kurt's bed, I kind of felt like I was drowning in cotton, which had to be the best way to die by far.

All of the lights were off except for the ones around the vanity in the corner, which Kurt was seated at with his army of skin creams. I turned away from the brightness and closed my eyes, but flashes of my angry, knife-wielding father burned behind my eyelids. I nearly groaned as I replayed the night's events in my mind, just wanting the day to be over already so I could forget about it. Of course I knew I was safe here, in this bed fit for royalty with Kurt sitting mere feet away, but I wished more than anything that I could feel safe in my own house too.

Very suddenly I felt my Connection to Kurt widen considerably, and in the same second I felt his curiosity turn to shock and then sadness. I lifted my head off the pillow to look at him over my shoulder, confused as to why on Earth Kurt would want to feel the same things as me right now; I wouldn't wish these feelings on my worst enemy.

Kurt had his face in his hands, and as I watched him the Connection constricted again, making him visibly relax until I was stuck feeling all those horrible things alone again.

I was more alert now, still awake by the time Kurt was settled on the air mattress because I was unable to stop thinking a loop of horrible thoughts:

I had nowhere to go. After tonight my options were either sleep on the streets or face my father again, neither of which were very appealing and both had a nearly equal possibility of getting my killed. Honestly though, I didn't think I had the strength to go back to my apartment and watch my dad becoming a monster. It was hard enough before he tried to kill me, when his threats to were empty. Now the man that taught me how to fish when I was five hated me so much that he was willing to off me himself. Even if I did go back, we most likely wouldn't have the apartment for long, and at that point I'd probably get caught stealing on purpose just so I could get some food and shelter in juvie, even if it further wrecked my chances of having a good future.

It had been a long time since I allowed myself to wallow in self-pity, thinking things like "why is this happening to me, what did I do to deserve this?", because I'd accepted a long time ago that we just had to play the hand we'd been dealt; there was nothing you could do about it. But now, I really just wanted to feel happy, preferably without my life being endangered. Was that so much to ask?

After tonight, I wouldn't have Kurt. He was the only thing that had made me truly happy in years, and after tonight I couldn't see him. I'd be homeless and scouring the country for a job, whether I was alone or with my father, and there was no way in _hell _I was letting that man near Kurt. If he would murder his own son, there was no telling what he'd do to a friend of mine, someone who actually _liked _me.

My throat closed up and I bit my lip to stop from sobbing as I realized exactly how far my life had plummeted. I would have been making plans to off myself if the words _you're important to me _and _I don't want you getting hurt _weren't repeating themselves in my head.

I focused on Kurt's presence in the room, in my mind, almost asleep from what I could tell. He was so amazing, the only person who'd spared me a second glance. He didn't deserve to have to deal with this either. He deserved a normal, not-so-fucked-up soul mate.

There were tears leaking out and sliding down my face, but I didn't let any sound escape out of habit. I could scarcely breathe out of fear that it would come out as a sob, sniffling a bit and trying to drive the tears away. Was it so much to ask that someone would just _love _me? Couldn't I have that one luxury?

I heard a rustling and my whole body froze, scared I had woken up Kurt. There was more rustling, followed by the sound of sleepy, shuffling footsteps coming closer. I watched, perplexed, as Kurt approached me and knelt beside the bed so I was looking directly at him. He didn't look angry at having been woken up - instead there was something akin to worry on his face. Not pity, but _worry, _like he was afraid for me instead of sorry for me.

He did something then that shocked me a bit. With slow, steady movements, Kurt trailed his fingers along the side of my face, being even more gentle than when he'd applied the ointment, until he was cupping my jaw in his palm. Before I knew it another tear was rolling down my face and Kurt wiped it away, his thumb catching on my stubble, and all I could do was stare at him in wonder.

After deliberating for a moment, Kurt started to get up, but he didn't leave. Instead he settled onto the bed next to me and I moved over to make room, not touching him anymore but able to feel his body heat. I gave him a questioning look, wanting to know why he was doing this but also not wanting to shatter the delicate moment, but the only response he gave was reaching up to lightly rub my bruised arm and offering a small smile.

And oh god, _that _was the moment. It wasn't nearly as climactic as our first Connection, but I could feel something just kind of settling within myself. Kurt really was the one for me. It had always been him.

I couldn't help but sniffle at that, because this was probably the worst time to start falling in love with him, when after tonight I would most likely never see him again.

Something changed in Kurt's face, and then I was being pulled against his chest. I stiffened with surprise, my cheek laying over his heart and our legs overlapping a bit. I realized this was my last chance to actually be intimate with him, and maybe to feel this safe and warm and loved, so I took advantage of it, cuddling as close as I could possibly get. Maybe if I slept like this, I would never have to forget this smell - it was just so..._Kurt._

He let me cry and even held me closer, toying with my hair like my mom used to when I was sick. It kind of felt like heaven.

_"Blackbird singing in the dead of night..." _Kurt began to sing quietly, his voice so soft I could barely hear, _"...take these broken wings and learn to fly...all your life...you were only waiting for this moment to arise..."_

A memory stirred about something I read in that Wiki article on Connections, how the sound of your soul mate singing triggered a chemical calming effect, and I instantly felt it. It was almost like a paralytic, every muscle relaxing and my eyes drooping shut, a blissful feeling washing through me.

One last night of peace. Then I would be out of the frying pan and into the fire.

**~.~.~.~**

**In case you guys didn't know, I have a Tumblr, though that doesn't update much either. My URL is kenna7elefant.**


	7. Chapter 7

**No matter how much crap is going on in my life, no matter how long between updates, I will never abandon this story. That said, I am so sorry for making you guys wait so long.**

**~.~.~.~**

I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept so well. The combination of the cloud-bed, Kurt's arms, and the lullaby had tired me out so much that I wasn't even sure if I dreamt that night. Unconsciously, my fingers fisted around warm, silky fabric.

I opened my eyes a bit and saw the dark blue of Kurt's button-up pajama shirt, rising and falling with his breathing. Squinting against the morning sun, I shifted my head from the crook of his neck to look up at him, vaguely wondering if last night was real or if my father really had killed me and this was the afterlife.

Kurt was already awake, his eyes sparkling and offering a small smile. I became suddenly aware that his arms were still around me, making me fidget until he loosened them. My whole body was aching, sore from all the walking, and my face felt kind of swollen from getting punched so many times.

"Sorry about last night," I said with a yawn, scrubbing my eyes with the back of my hand. "I didn't mean to get so clingy, I just..."

"It's fine," Kurt said quickly. "I understand. Shared emotions, remember?"

"Right."

There was an awkward pause, and I decided not to fool myself any longer. It was time to leave this little bit of peace I had found and face the real world.

"I, um...thank you," I stammered. "For persuading your dad to let me stay. I'll just get dressed and head out."

My muscles strained as I tried to get up, and even more so when Kurt gripped my arm and forced me back down.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"I...back to my house," I said with confusion. "Where else would I go?"

"Wait, isn't your dad the one that did this to you?"

"Well...yes, but-"

"But nothing!" Kurt snapped. "I'm not letting you sleep at my house for a night so you can go back there and let him beat you up some more, that's not how friendship works."

"And where do you propose I go?" I asked incredulously.

"Stay here," Kurt instantly proposed, like he didn't even have to think about it. Maybe he had been planning this since last night. "I know I can talk my dad into it-"

"Kurt, I _can't," _I said firmly, tugging my arm away and starting to get up.

"Why not?"

I had to think for a moment, knowing Kurt would never understand if I tried to explain myself. He would just think I was crazy.

"Because...I don't think your dad would allow it, he doesn't like me very much," I invented. It was probably true, anyway.

"That's not the reason and you know it," Kurt said in a quiet, dangerous voice that told me he wasn't taking no for an answer. "I can feel it when you lie to me."

_Shit, _I thought, having forgotten. For a moment I debated refusing to answer at all - it wasn't like Kurt was entitled to know. My father had never gone this far, maybe he was feeling guilty, and when I went back to him he'd apologize and try to be a better dad.

But I knew that would never happen. It never did, and I wasn't fooling anyone.

"What is it?" Kurt prompted, obviously reading the distress on my face.

"Well...my dad used to be an okay guy," I said quietly. It was about time I told him why I never wanted him to call the cops, or hadn't made a move before last night to leave. Kurt said nothing, waiting for me to continue, but I couldn't meet his eye. "Before he started drinking, he was like a real father. Then my mom left when I was seven and he became an alcoholic..." Oh god, the floodgates were open. There was no stopping now. "He makes me steal stuff for him. Mostly beer and cigarettes. That's why I went to juvie the first time. And the second. It toughened me up so I could defend myself when they found out I was gay in high school."

I timidly looked up to Kurt's face, watching him slowly working through my words. There was no judgement in his expression.

"Why don't you defend yourself against your father, then?" he asked, truly confused, not accusatory.

"I try to," I admitted, holding back the tears threatening in my throat. "But all I can think about when he's coming after me is how we used to go on fishing trips together, or how he'd take me to the park every weekend, or watch cartoons on Saturday mornings while we tried to catch Cheerios in our mouths…"

There really were tears in my eyes now, my voice shaking as I let myself really think about what I'd struggled with and kept secret for so many years. I was being pulled into Kurt's embrace within moments, relaxing against his chest as he sat up against the headboard. We were both quiet for a long time, Kurt absently rubbing my back while I steadied my breathing.

"What did he do to you?" Kurt asked unsteadily. "What did he do to you, Blaine, that was bad enough to make you come here last night?"

I really didn't want to think about it, pressing my face to Kurt's chest so I could hear his heartbeat.

"He tried to kill me," I said quietly, monotonously. "He's threatened to so many times before, but this time he got out a kitchen knife and tried to stab me."

I remembered a section in the Wikipedia article on Connections (_if the life or relative well-being of one Connected person is threatened, an uncontrollable, very strong protective instinct will overcome their soul mate_) a split second after I said it.

I could feel the onset of emotion through our Connection, it was so potent, Kurt's eyes going wide. I hadn't expected it to be that strong, but rage and horror and possessiveness pulsed through me secondhand, making my head spin and heart pound.

"Whoa," I said breathlessly, grasping his shirt and feeling his arms tighten around me almost unconsciously.

"S-sorry," Kurt stammered when the emotions had faded a bit. "I think what you said triggered something."

"Yeah, I can feel that," I said a bit sarcastically.

"I just...I just can't let him hurt you," Kurt said exasperatedly, a bit frantic. "I don't see _why _he would hurt you; it's so unfair, Blaine, what the hell did you ever do to him-?"

"Hey," I cut in, interrupting his rant. He was working himself into a panic, me trying to calm him down.

"Sorry," he muttered once he had relaxed a bit. "I know it's weird for me to be all protective, but we're going to be in each other's lives for a long time, and frankly you need protecting."

"I understand," I said quietly, still thinking on the fact that he was willing to stay with me for a long time.

Maybe this was like a fairytale. Maybe Kurt was my Prince Charming, rescuing me from my tower or dungeon or whatever, so pure of heart he could see past my flaws. It sounded way too childish and unrealistic, but I wanted it, and maybe Kurt did too.

After a moment of deliberation, I reached up to wrap my arms around Kurt's neck, holding him closer because it felt right. Kurt's face pressed against my hair and I sighed quietly, completely relaxed.

"What are we, Kurt?" I murmured against his chest when my curiosity got the better of me. "What is this, I mean...what are we?"

"You mean besides Connected?" he clarified, and I nodded.

"I don't really think we need anymore labels," he decided after a moment. "I'm not sure any exist for this kind of situation anyway. How about we just be Kurt and Blaine?"

I couldn't hold back my grin, hiding it in Kurt's nightshirt. So many labels had been pinned to me - faggot, bad boy, delinquent, whore - by so many people, and at first, Kurt had been no exception. For the first time in a long time, he was making me feel like a person.

"I'd like that," I said gratefully.

~.~.~.~

Kurt convinced me to come upstairs with him, despite my preference to stay in his room. I wasn't looking forward to being around other people and leaving the comfortable bubble we'd created, but I was hungry. His dad and stepmom were already awake, sitting at the table with newspapers and coffee, but Kurt's step-brother - Finn, I remembered - was still asleep on the couch.

"Hey Dad," Kurt said, and I wondered if I should say hello too, but decided against it.

Mr. Hummel looked us over once, his eyes scrutinizing.

"Morning kiddo," he grunted, and I wondered if he was upset with me or just wasn't a morning person.

"Morning boys. What do you want for breakfast?" Carole said with a smile as she stood, taking her plate to the sink.

Kurt almost instantly rattled off what kind of cereal we both liked, and I realized he had widened our Connection to pick my brain. It was a weird experience. Kurt gestured to the chair across from his father and I sat down with some reluctance.

I almost forgot about our Connection being wider than normal until I heard a dull thud, pain flaring up in my foot as Kurt stubbed his toe. We swore at the same time and Kurt quickly apologized, our Connection constraining to normal levels.

Kurt's dad didn't say anything to me, for which I was grateful, but the silence was pretty awkward. I almost felt like he was watching me through the newspaper as Kurt and Carole talked quietly in the kitchen. I stared at the wood grain of the table, trying not to pay attention to the fact that they were talking about me.

"Thank you," I said quietly when the food was brought out, Carole leaving the room as we ate. I was finished by the time Mr. Hummel laid his paper aside, my heart thumping when his gaze rounded on me.

"So, Blaine. What's the deal here? Do you have a gameplan?" he asked expectantly. He didn't sound upset, but I could tell he didn't approve of me yet. I glanced at Kurt helplessly. "Look, kid, I'm gonna need to know your living situation so I know if it's safe for you to go back there or if I need to step in," he added when we said nothing.

He was trying to be nice, trying to help me, but the fact was Mr. Hummel still didn't think I was worthy of being his son's soul mate. I didn't either, but I couldn't trust him yet, and if I tried to explain everything to him he wouldn't understand. Not like Kurt had. I froze up, unable to look at Kurt's father.

"Why don't you go take a shower, Blaine?" Kurt suggested, saving me. I literally jumped up at the opportunity, walking quickly back down into Kurt's bedroom, leaving Mr. Hummel's indignant, "Hey wait, I gotta talk to you!" behind me.

I didn't let myself panic any further, opting to douse myself in hot water, first grabbing my clothes from the dryer. For the short time I was in the shower, I could feel a range of Kurt's emotions, from aggravation, to desperation, then gratitude. Honestly I was more afraid of Mr. Hummel having my dad arrested than anything, even though I knew I shouldn't be. I just couldn't imagine him locked up, all on his own. His whole life had fallen apart when his wife left, and maybe some sick part of me wished he would be devastated without his son too.

I heard Kurt's feet on the stairs as I was rinsing out my hair, shutting off the water and toweling off. When I came out, dressed in my old clothes, he was selecting an outfit and laying it ever so carefully on his bed. He scrutinized it carefully, not noticing me yet, and the way he was assembling the absolute perfect outfit was inexplicably endearing.

"Did it go well?" I asked a bit nervously.

"He hasn't made up his mind yet, but I know he won't turn you out," Kurt sighed, turning away from his clothes to look at me. "He just has to decide whether or not to call the police, but I think I convinced him not to."

"Really?" I said, shocked. I hadn't expected Kurt to ensure my father's freedom, feeling as if he'd already done way too much for me. The fact that he cared enough about what I wanted to fight his father on the subject made me want to hug him, and after a moment of deliberation, I did.

He seemed surprised by it at first, but then he hugged back, and I realized I truly had him on my side.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "Thank you so much, Kurt, you don't know what this means to me-"

"Well, if you think about it, I kind of do," he reminded me with a small laugh. He didn't quite understand why I didn't want my father in jail, I knew, but he still fought for me.

"When I was in court for stealing and they were asking me all those questions...I just couldn't turn my dad in, you know?" I muttered. "I mean, it won't take him long to get caught now that he has to steal his own booze, but that's his choice."

I felt Kurt nod and the gentle weight of his head dropped onto my shoulder, resting there comfortingly. We just stayed there, holding each other for a minute, and it was quite nice until I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. I quickly extracted myself from Kurt's arms just as his father came into view, looking between us suspiciously.

"Just getting some laundry," he said flatly, and I could tell he knew he'd interrupted something. The thought occurred to me that I should probably thank him or something, but I couldn't even look at him properly. "Blaine, you'll be rooming with Kurt if you decide to stay here, but I don't want any funny business."

Blushing madly, I noticed that Mr. Hummel worded his sentence as if it were my choice. It didn't really feel like it at the moment, my only options being living with my insane father and a man who probably thought I would try to make a move on his son while he slept.

"Yes, sir," I said instead of thank you.

"Call me Burt."

When he left I relaxed slightly, feeling Kurt at my shoulder but not looking up.

"He's not as intimidating as he seems," he said softly.

"He doesn't like me," I contradicted.

"He doesn't know you."

"Kurt, _look at me," _I snapped suddenly, surprising myself but too upset to stop. "Do I really look like the kind of person he would want as his son's soul mate?"

I could tell that threw him for a minute. He looked at me, piercings and scars and all, biting his lip. I hated that I could make him look at me like that, because I knew he saw exactly what I did when I looked at myself. I looked hideous and dangerous and everything I didn't want to be, nonetheless what everyone else didn't want me to be.

"Dad trusts me, and I trust you," he said carefully after a few moments. "Just let him get to know you, he'll come around."

Kurt trusted me. Okay, that was news. What the heck did he even trust me with? I didn't have or know anything of value to him. But I had still been an ass, and of course he was courteous as always.

"Sorry," I said a bit grudgingly.

"It's okay." Awkward pause. "Do you even want to stay here, Blaine?"

I looked up at him and cocked my head, meeting his worried gaze. It was as if he didn't think this place was good enough for me or something, which was just ridiculous.

"I don't know," I said with an indifferent shrug. "I mean, your dad and Finn kind of scare me, but Carole seems alright, and obviously I'm okay with you. Besides, it's not like I have anywhere else to go-"

"But do you _want _to stay here?" he repeated, trying to get me to understand. "If you had somewhere else you could go, would you want to stay here?"

"Well...yeah," I muttered, because it was sort of apparent. He was my fucking soul mate, for god's sake. "I mean, you're here, so...that makes this the best place."

I didn't miss the way he smiled at that, despite his attempts to hide it.

**~.~.~.~**

**REVIEW = PREVIEW**


End file.
